Regret
by Adrenaline Write
Summary: "Between all my pain, even more questions arise. What did it feel like to be killed by me? Is the pain I feel now any different from the pain I was bringing to the tributes I killed?" Cato begins to regret killing tributes when he dies as well. Oneshot.


Murderer. Lunatic. Brutal.

Panem assumes I don't know what they all think of me. Cato, the boy who lusts for blood more than love. The boy who can rip your limbs apart in seconds and not think twice about it. The tables are turned now.

Blood spurts against the shimmering golden walls of the Cornucopia, against my face, against my attackers. The muttations, designed to look like my fellow former Hunger Games tributes, are the first and only things to horrify me in this arena. The pain is incomparable, and long, tortured moans escape my lips. I try to pull myself away using my arms, as my legs are nothing but raw, butchered flesh. One of them clamps their razor sharp teeth into my foot, pulling me back. I bite my lip to keep from screaming.

The mutts form a circle around me, and one takes a lunge forward. The District 11 female tribute muttation. Its light brown eyes bore harshly into mine as it grazes through the last bits of healthy flesh on my legs. I try to close my eyes, but the pain becomes so unbearable that I have to watch to know when the next round is coming.

How is it that someone whose skull I could easily crack before has assumed such a powerful form?

As the mutt finishes and paws its way back to the circle, another comes. The crippled tribute from District 10 muttation makes its way towards me, without a limp from any of its hind legs. The fire in its eyes is easily readable. This mutt chooses to avenge the torturous death I had brought to its normal form.

The pain is even worse than what I had suffered in these past horrific hours. Every single bone, every single piece of my skin is throbbing. Yet, as I slip in and out of consciousness, how is it that my death is still being prolonged?

Between all my pains, even more questions arise. What did it feel like to be killed by me? Is the pain I feel now any different from the pain I was bringing to the tributes I killed? Throughout the course of this torture, I begin to hate myself. For volunteering for something as horrible as the Games, for letting my bloodlust and insanity take over my virtues. For killing people who had lives they still should have lived back at their homes.

My heart jumps out of my chest as a new mutt enters the Cornucopia, obviously not seen by the lovebirds from District 12. As it pads closer to my face, I realise with a sudden pang that the Gamemakers have released a copy of Thresh's mutt. But it was killed!

_I race through the forest of thick trunks and twisted branches, swiftly jumping fallen sticks and crowded underbrush. Finally, I reach the glistening lake._

"_Get out here, District 11!" I snarl, " Don't make this harder than it needs to be."_

_A dark, surly figure appears from the nearby trees, wearing a hard, stony scowl._

_I draw my wickedly curved sword from my belt loop, and Thresh lifts a sharp, granite rock. I laugh maniacally._

"_You're going to fight me with that?"_

_He grunts, rushing towards me and bashing the rock straight to my eye. Rage fuels up inside me, and I shriek, swinging the sword and stabbing him in the stomach .He grunts once again. Thresh begins to pelt nearby rocks at my entire body, delivering piercing blows. It feels like hours, and blood spills into the lake, on the trees, and soaks our bodies. Both of us staggering, Thresh drops his rock and I cut the blade into his leg. I lean down, next to him._

I can't feel any parts of my limbs anymore. Thresh's mutt has turned my entire body into meat. I am full-out screaming by now, begging for my life to end.

"_You shouldn't have killed Clove, District 11." I stab him repeatedly, cutting around the entire surface of his body. He stares me down the entire time, eyes narrowed to slits._

I should never have killed Thresh in such a way as I did. I can feel the pain he felt, but multiplied to an extent that I can hardly breathe.

_His flesh becomes a sickly purple and yellow, and his eyes shut. I can hear the faint roar of the hovercraft as I start traveling back to my camp._

My last interrogator makes their way forward, and I feel worse than ever, physically and mentally. Clove's mutt.

I miss her badly. More than anyone else in all of Panem. I want to be with Clove again. It didn't make any sense at first. To enjoy her company. How did I feel about her? I still don't know. But having someone who thought the same way you did was like having someone who was almost like a friend. It was fantastic. And alien.

Clove's torture was by far the worst. As the muttation's claws sunk into my stomach, I kept seeing the real Clove, dark hair, mesmerizing face, and long coat.

Just as Katniss' arrow enters my head, one single salty tear falls down my face.

_I hope my death was a good show._


End file.
